


the jilted balance of the universe

by princesskay



Series: fragile (handle with force) [6]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: A lapse in Holden and Debbie's relationship creates a ripple affect - the re-negotiation of his relationship with Bill.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Series: fragile (handle with force) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552183
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	the jilted balance of the universe

_ Click. Click. Click. _ The sound of Holden jabbing his ballpoint pen open and closed again echoes against the stifled silence of the basement. The button takes the brunt force of his anxiously humming energy while his knee bounces beneath the desk. 

He can’t concentrate on the words on the page in front of him, let alone the analysis of his last conversation with Jerry Brudos. Despite gleaning some useful insights from the third interview and coming home on a high note, everything since then had plummeted into a steaming pile of horseshit. 

He supposes he should be happy that the school board agreed with his opinions about Roger Wade, but everyone else’s opinions on the matter are making him second-guess his own judgment. Even Bill. 

Holden glances up from the paperwork to peer across the space between their desks at Bill. 

_ Especially Bill.  _

Checking his watch, he notes that it’s just before four o’clock. Wendy had left early saying she had to get ready for a dinner with an associate across town. They’re the only ones left in the office for the day, and Holden can’t focus on getting anything else done. There’s a build-up in his veins, a humming energy like an itch deep inside that needs to be scratched but that he can’t reach on his own. 

The day after their last hook-up at Holden’s apartment, he’d walked into work trying to hide the wince of pain that rippled through him. When he sat down, he could still feel where Bill’s hand had struck the hardest. No one else seemed to notice his stiff movements, but he’d been sure Bill had. 

He had silently watched Holden try to get comfortable at his desk with a tense expression before going back to his work. After that, Holden got carried away with the Shady Lane Elementary situation, and they haven’t spoken much outside of work since then. 

Holden jabs the pen harder, until his thumb aches. Communication has always been scarce between them, but this is different - like Bill is actually giving a concerted effort at putting distance between them. 

“Do you need something?” Bill’s voice interrupts Holden’s distracted thoughts. 

“What?”

Bill casts a pointed glance over the rim of his reading glasses at the battered pen clutched in Holden’s hand. 

Holden stops clicking the pen, plunging the basement into silence. They share a silent, terse gaze until Bill gives a muted sigh and turns his attention back to his work. 

Holden sets his pen down, and clears his throat. 

“What are you working on?” He asks, “Anything pressing?”

Bill regards him, warily. “Not necessarily.”

“Wanna get out of here?”

“It’s barely four.”

“I know. Wendy left early. I don't see why we can't take an early day.”

Bill’s desk lamp casts a glare across his reading glasses that shields his eyes, but Holden can see the quiver in his jawline, the unsteady rise of his chest. 

“We could go to my place.” Holden suggests, quietly. “You could stay longer, not have to leave right away.” 

The suggestion hangs in the air for a long moment. When Bill doesn’t immediately reply except for the furrow of his brow, Holden rises from his chair, and approaches his desk with his hands tucked loosely in his pockets. 

“What do you think?” He urges. 

“Tell me something, Holden.” Bill says, his tone guarded. “Why should you get rewarded with taking an early day when you just got your ass chewed by Shepard for doing something extremely stupid and unprofessional?”

“Are you going to stay mad at me about that?”

“Are you going to continue being stubborn and unrepentant about it?”

Holden sighs, and lowers his head. “That isn’t what I want to talk about.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Bill asks, archly. He takes off his reading glasses and tosses them on the desk before casting Holden a withering gaze. 

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk at all. I just want you to-”

Exhaling a frustrated sigh, Bill shakes his head, and takes a hard drag of his cigarette.

“What?” Holden asks, “If anything, this is the perfect opportunity for you. Isn’t this how it goes? I do or say something to piss you off, and you punish me for it?”

“Holden, this is not a game.” Bill says, rising from his chair and stamping out his cigarette. “This is our job. And I don’t know what the hell has been going through your mind the past few days.”

Holden’s opens his mouth to offer a reply, but the astonished words stick in the back of his throat. He can feel heat crawling up his throat. Reprimanded and humiliated - not in the way he prefers. 

“You want to tell me? Because I can’t seem to figure it out.” Bill continues, his eyes flashing. “This study was your idea - you were pushing for it. Now you don’t want to be a part of the hiring process, you think Agent Smith is a mole, and you’re running off on wild goose chases pursuing things that we have no business sticking our noses into.” 

“You’re right. This study was my idea. I just don’t want anyone getting involved who isn’t the right fit.” 

“You wouldn’t know since you refuse to even consider any of the applications.”

“I told you my issue with the applications.”

Bill shakes his head, giving an exasperated sigh. “And the foot tickler thing?” He asks, jabbing an impatient hand, “Since when is something like that even on your radar?”

“You don’t think it’s escalating behavior?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. He hasn’t done anything that we can prove - anything criminal at least.” 

“But wouldn’t you rather stop it before it turns criminal? Before a child’s life is ruined?”

“You can’t know that for sure.” 

“I’m pretty sure.” 

Their gazes clash, and Holden can feel his frustration and need bubbling up his belly. He holds Bill’s glare, trying not to tremble beneath the intensity in his sharp, blue eyes. He knows he’s pushing his luck starting an argument outside of the bedroom - one that he certainly isn’t guaranteed to win - but he can’t stop himself. 

“Okay.” Bill says, finally, holding up a hand. “You’re ‘pretty sure’ you’re right, and you want me to what? Try to break you of that notion when I know it isn’t possible?”

“Why does it matter? It’s a fantasy, like you said.” 

“Yeah. I said a fantasy that doesn’t interfere with real life. This is real life, Holden. This is our work. Why are you trying to fuck it up?”

“I’m not.” Holden says, sharply. 

Bill’s eyebrows rise in disbelief. 

Holden glances away, abruptly, his throat fiercely knotting with emotion. He wishes for just one time that he didn’t have to cajole Bill into giving into their desires - that he didn’t have to beg or plead or wheedle to get his way, especially when he can see the evidence of Bill’s own needs shining in his eyes. Especially when he’s spent most of the last week being pissed off at Holden, and that’s just the type of leverage Holden needs right now. 

“I’m not.” Holden repeats, shifting a defiant gaze back to Bill. “Can we just please go, and-”

“No.” 

“Why not? I know you want to.”

Bill’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t lash back out the way Holden had expected. He braces his hands on his hips and focuses on the floor for a moment before meeting Holden’s gaze again. His eyes are softer this time, smoky blue in the low light of the basement. 

“Is that it?” He asks, quietly. 

“What do you mean?”

“This principal thing. Is that all that’s going on with you?”

Holden swallows hard, his chest twisting with a strain of anxiety and dismay. He looks away. Somewhere in between all of his observations of Bill and their brutal affair, he’d nearly forgotten that Bill knows him, that he’s a profiler just like Holden, that he’s reading Holden like an open book even now when they’re standing on uneven ground. 

“What is it?” Bill asks as the silence stretches on. 

Holden lifts his chin. “I don't really want to talk about it.”

“Then forget it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because, whatever is going on with you, I’m not getting into the middle of it and making things worse.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“How can I know that for sure if you won’t tell me?”

Holden clenches his jaw, a flare of frustration rising in his chest. He doesn’t know why it’s so easy to let Bill physically break him down into nothing, but he can’t be honest about one small thing. _But i_ __t_ ’s not really that small, is it?  _

“You would be making things better.” Holden says, his voice dropping down to a whisper. “Please, Bill, just trust me. I really … I need you right now.”

Silence settles again, the cavernous, hollow echo of the basement at night. Holden can feel Bill’s gaze on him, electric, searching. He hesitantly looks up to meet Bill’s eyes, and shudders deep in his belly as Bill shifts closer. The graze of his eyes is scorching in that way that his hand usually is, striking so that Holden wants to crumble. It lingers until the moment shatters when he turns back to his desk and starts gathering up his things. 

Holden stands still, watching with burgeoning dismay as Bill grabs his cigarettes, lighter, and keys from his desk, and swings his jacket over his shoulder. As Bill strides past him toward the door, he spins around. 

“Where are you going?”

“Home. That’s where you should be. Home - with your girlfriend.”

Paralyzed, Holden watches Bill retreat, threatening to leave him alone with his thoughts. It takes him until Bill gets all the way to the door to cast aside his pride and tell the truth. If he doesn’t, his chances of getting alone with Bill tonight are slim to none. 

“I can’t do that.” He blurts out. 

Bill pauses with his hand on the doorknob. Slowly, he turns to meet Holden’s tremulous gaze. “Why not?”

“I think … I think we broke up.”

A beat of silence. Holden can feel the air evaporate from his lungs right along with the confession. 

Bill’s gaze softens, some of his prickling defenses subsiding. “You and Debbie broke up?”

Holden nods, pursing his lips against the hot clutch of emotion rising up to grip the back of his throat. 

“I think she cheated on me.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I caught her with another guy. They weren’t exactly … sleeping together, but he was touching her and- … I walked away. We haven’t spoken in a week.”

Bill nods slowly. 

“Anyway, I … I don’t have anyone to go home to. And I don’t want to be alone right now.” Holden says, his voice dwindling to a meek whisper. 

Bill sighs, and glances away. His jaw works from side-to-side for a moment before he releases a slow sigh through his nostrils. 

“Fine.” He says, “Do you want to go get a drink?”

“A drink?”

“Yeah, I’m buying.” 

“Okay.” Holden says, slowly, surprised by the gesture. 

“All right. Let’s go.” Bill says, nodding for Holden to follow him. 

Breaking out of his frozen stance, Holden quickly gathers his things, and shuts off the lights behind them as they exit out into the hallway. Their footfalls echo loudly down the vacant corridor on their way down to the elevator.

Holden peeks a glance over at Bill, searching for the true motivation behind this suggestion, but Bill profile is stoic, his reserved gaze focused straight ahead. 

They ride the elevator up to ground level, and walk out across the parking lot together in silence.

As they near their cars, Holden asks, “Where are we going?”

“Just follow me.” Bill says, barely looking up from unlocking his car door. 

“Okay.” 

Holden ducks into his car, and waits until Bill pulls out ahead of him to accelerate. He turns on the radio while they exit the Quantico parking lot, searching for a distraction from his thoughts. His belly roils with anticipation that he fails to tamp down. It could turn out to be just a drink, but it also has the possibility of this evening turning into something more. He can only hope, and try to appeal to Bill’s impulses. 

Bill takes them across town to a small pub that’s squeezed into a row of shops and boutiques. Three narrow, concrete steps lead up to a red-painted door that simply reads: O’Malley’s. The interior is dim and cramped, but not crowded. There’s a bar with four stools, a jukebox and dart game shoved against one wall, and a row of five, leather-upholstered booths opposite the bar. Soft rock plays from the speakers, melding with the low hum of conversation and the clinks of glasses. 

Bill orders them two beers from the bar, and carries them back to the booth where Holden is waiting.

“This is nice.” Holden says, glancing around the pub. “I didn’t even know this place existed.”

“Nobody from Quantico comes here, that’s why.” Bill says, sinking down into the seat across from Holden. “It’ll get a lot more crowded come six, seven o’clock.”

“I’m sure we’ll be gone by then.” 

Bill’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t respond as he pulls out his cigarettes. He’d taken off his jacket and tie in the car and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Holden watches the ripple of muscle along his forearm as he works the lighter. 

“You should be grateful I’m even bringing you here.” Bill says, dragging the cigarette from his mouth. Smoke fogs the air as he pins Holden with a rueful gaze. “I come here when I want to get away from the bureaucracy and the bullshit.”

“Well, I appreciate it.”

“It helps the beer is good.” Bill adds, taking a sip of his mug. 

Holden nods, and takes a drink of his own beer. The smooth, foamy texture slides down the back of his throat, urging the tension in his muscles to relax. 

“Yeah?” Bill says. 

Holden nods. “Yeah, really good.”

Bill takes another drag of his cigarette, and leans forward to tap ashes in the tray at the center of his table. He focuses on the crumbling smoke for a moment before shifting a somber gaze up to Holden. 

“You’ll get back on the horse, you know.” He says. 

“What do you mean?”

“Dating. It feels really shitty right now, but you’ll get back up, dust yourself off, move on.”

Holden glances away, biting at the inside of his cheek. He’s telling himself to take tonight slow, but mostly, he just wants to laugh out loud at the absurdity of Bill giving him dating advice.  _ Last week you were fucking me raw; now you’re encouraging me to get back into the dating pool?  _

Instead, he just nods. 

“That is, if you want to.” Bill says, “Nothing wrong with being single.”

“You can say that because you’re married.” Holden says, scoffing quietly. “ _ Very  _ married.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Set in your ways married. That is, if you want to be.”

Some upbeat Fleetwood Mac song plays over the muted clamor of the pub, leaking into the stretching silence between them. Bill’s gaze holds onto Holden’s with a knife-edged severity, irritation licking like fire underneath. He wants to lash out, but they’re in public. 

“You’ve never been married so you can’t understand.” Bill says, finally. “It’s not like dating. You can’t just up and leave.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” 

“Yes, Bill. ‘Marriage is a contract’.” Holden says, parroting back Bill’s own words from Altoona. 

Bill sighs, his jaw rippling with a frustrated clench. His gaze cuts away toward the bar, focusing on some distant spot that isn’t Holden. 

“Okay, my mistake. You said you didn’t want to talk about it.” He says, at length. 

“It’s fine. I appreciate the advice.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t really prepared for … for this.” Holden says, gazing down into the amber slosh of beer at the bottom of his mug. “Then again, I wasn’t even prepared for us to start dating to begin with so … Apparently, I never knew what I was doing.”

Bill’s gaze moves gently over him, compassion reemerging. “Do any of us?”

“I don’t know.” Holden says, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I didn’t expect it to feel this way.”

“What way?”

“So shitty. I … I have no right to be mad.”

They’re silent for a long moment, that insinuation sinking in between them. Holden draws in a deep breath, and lifts his gaze from his drink back to Bill’s somber yet unreadable expression. 

“I still don’t regret it.” He whispers, “I know I should. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“I think it does.”

Holden’s chest pinches, but his gaze doesn’t flinch away from Bill’s. He appreciates the brutal honesty that has always existed between them; and maybe he does want Bill to tell him that he’s terrible and awful and irredeemable, and that he had never deserved someone like Debbie to begin with. With all of these complicated emotions swelling in his chest, he just wants to be made to feel small and insignificant, like nothing he has ever done or will do matters - just for a few hours, one night, one moment of escape. 

“Do you regret it?” Holden says, his voice dropping down to a hoarse whisper that’s barely audible above the hum of conversation and music. 

Bill’s eyes don’t stray from his for a long moment, but Holden can’t glimpse an answer to his question. Bill’s gaze is like caustic steel, sharp and dangerous, warning him to stay back or risk being injured. 

“I didn’t bring you here so we could talk about that.” Bill says, his gaze snapping free of Holden’s as he puffs on his cigarette. “I’m buying that beer so you better drink it.”

“Yeah, right.” Holden whispers. 

He takes a deep drink of the beer, and swipes his knuckles across the foamy remnants on his upper lip. 

The rest of the hour is passed in almost complete silence except for a few scattered remarks about work. Every attempt at conversation falls flat, neither of them interested in the mundane details of everyday life. Their nightlife crackles underneath, a frayed electric wire wanting to spark into flame, but Bill snuffs it out with every cold, restrained response. 

When they both finish their drinks, he goes up to pay the tab at the bar before nodding for Holden to follow him. 

Out on the sidewalk, the sky is darkening to a cornflower blue that heralds dusk. Sinking sunlight casts blinding, golden beams down the street with a slight breeze. They ignore the other pedestrians around them as Bill lights another cigarette. 

“Do you want to drive tomorrow?” He asks. 

“I don’t mind.”

“Me either. I can pick you up if you want.”

“No, it’s okay. I can drive.”

“Okay, great. See you in the morning.” Bill says, digging his keys out of his pocket. 

He ambles down the sidewalk towards his car, leaving Holden on the steps of O’Malley’s, belly warm with beer, chest bursting with disappointment. As Holden watches his car pull away from the curb and disappear around the corner, his chest tightens. 

_ First Debbie, now Bill.  _ He thinks,  _ Maybe the jilted balance of the universe is finally circling back around to bite him in the ass.  _

He can’t really complain. It’s more or less what he deserves. 

~

When Holden pulls up at Bill’s house the next morning, Bill is sitting on the front stoop drinking his cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette like always. Nancy pokes her head out the door to kiss him goodbye before he hoists his suitcase and strides down the slope to the curb. Tossing his bag in the backseat, he ducks into the passenger’s seat, and rolls down the window so he can finish his cigarette.

“Good morning.” Holden says. 

“‘Morning.”

Holden pulls away from the curb, and steers them around the corner in the direction of the freeway and the airport. Morning wind blusters softly through the half-open window while the sharp odor of cigarette smoke reaches his nostrils. He peeks a glance over at Bill who has his head tilted back against the headrest. 

“Did you sleep okay?” Holden asks. 

“Fine. Why?”

“You look tired, that’s all.”

“We work sixty hours a week. I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t tired.”

Holden nods, and purses his lips against further prying. Bill seems on edge this morning, not interested in conversation. He had been so calm at O’Malley’s last night that Holden wonders just how much he conceals what he’s feeling on a daily basis. It had become clear on their last night together that the strain between him and his wife was worse than Holden originally thought; and now, he’s left feeling a little more like Nancy than he had ever wanted to. 

When they reach the airport, Holden drives his car into the long-term parking area, and they make the long walk across the garage, into the airport, and to their gate in silence. 

On the plane to Cincinnati, Bill perks up a little when Holden pulls his dossier on their subject, Posteal Laskey Jr., out of his briefcase and suggests they go over the details one more time. The conversation is stilted to begin with, but an hour into the flight, they’re trading initial insights and theories without delay. Holden relaxes, telling himself that last week was a fluke, or rather, that his behavior around the Roger Wade situation had created more hurdles than he’d expected. Maybe that tension is finally dissipating. 

After landing in Cincinnati, they check into the hotel and drop off their bags in their room before heading over to the correctional facility. They’re inside for over five hours, and when they come back out it’s dinnertime. The sky is dusky blue with the lengthening shadows of sunset as they go through the drive thru at a burger joint to grab dinner. 

“I think that went well.” Holden says, digging in the paper bag to grab a few fresh, hot fries. 

“Yeah, we’ll have to come back at some point.”

“Like I said, repeat visits are important.”

Bill casts him a wry smile, and for a moment, Holden feels the friction between them melt. 

Back at the hotel, they finish off the burgers and fries while Bill turns the television on. They’re playing re-runs of  _ Star Trek  _ that Bill seems to be enjoying, but that Holden isn’t interested in. 

“I’m gonna go get a shower.” He says. 

“Okay.” Bill says, absently, leaning back against the pillows with his tired gaze trained on the television. 

Holden grabs a clean pair of pajamas out of his suitcase, and slips into the bathroom. While he showers off the sweat and lingering grim from the correctional facility beneath the hot spray of water, he leans against the cool tile and tries to quell his thoughts.

They haven’t been alone in a hotel room for a few weeks, and the opportunity is staring them both in the face. Here, there’s no chance of getting caught, no reason for Bill to leave right away, no wife wondering where he is and why he hasn’t come home yet. Besides, Bill seems to have relaxed since yesterday, or maybe he just pities Holden for his wounded heart; but Holden doesn’t want pity, he wants savagery. He wants to be crushed the way Bill crushes a used cigarette. 

He thinks through a dozen possible scenarios and opening salvos in his head, but most of them sound simpering and desperate.  _ Does he want to seem desperate? Not until the end, when Bill has him too worn down not to be.  _

His stomach flutters with anxious, eager nausea as he puts on his pajamas, and opens the bathroom door. Slipping out into the room, he sees Bill still lying on the bed with his shoulders against the pillows, but his knuckles are propped against his cheek while his eyelids droop shut - more exhausted than he had admitted to.

Biting his lower lip, Holden drops his work clothes into a rumpled pile on top of his suitcase, and creeps across the carpet to where Bill is dozing off. Tamping down his nerves that are quietly screaming at him to go back to his own bed, he crawls onto the mattress beside Bill, and settles down with his chest tucked against Bill’s shoulder. 

Bill doesn’t stir to the gentle touch of Holden’s body against his. His eyelids flutter slightly, but his mouth is lax with deep, slow breaths. Holden traces the shape of his profile with his gaze, taking in his regal cheekbones, the softened blades of his lips, his jawline peppered with a five o’clock shadow. He never looks peaceful when he sleeps, just too exhausted to go on. 

Holden’s breathing staggers in his chest, and his pulse pounds in his temples as he lifts a hand to touch Bill’s hip. The connection is instantly warm despite the cotton layer of his boxers standing between the touch, urging the need nestling down between Holden’s thighs. Carefully, he follows the line of Bill’s hip up to where the hem of his undershirt meets his boxers. Nudging the hem up slightly, he gazes at the exposed strip of bare skin, and wants more than anything to rip the fabric all the way back to plaster it with kisses. 

Bill grunts quietly as Holden leans in against him, expelling a hot breath across his bare shoulder. 

“Holden?” His voice is quiet, raspy from the drifting nap.

Holden pulls his hand away and starts to sit up, his heart pounding at being caught, but Bill reaches over to grasp his thigh. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He murmurs, his eyelids slipping open to regard Holden with heated condemnation. 

“Nothing.” Holden whispers, his chest squeezing with a heady mix of fear and anticipation. “I’ll go back to my own bed.”

Bill’s hand stays on Holden’s thigh as he shifts onto his back and pushes up against the headboard. 

“That’s probably a good idea.” He murmurs. 

Holden glances down at where Bill’s hand is located, and clenches his jaw. Despite the logic of what Bill’s saying, he knows it’s not what either of them want. Pushing aside his hesitation, Holden nudges Bill’s hand off his thigh, and rises up from the mattress to quickly straddle Bill’s lap. 

Bill grunts as Holden’s weight settles on his lap, their groins dangerously close to colliding. He clutches Holden’s hips almost automatically, the touch going from fierce to hesitant in the space of a few seconds. He gazes up at Holden with his lips set into a firm line, his jaw clenching against rising impulse. 

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Holden asks, rocking softly against him.

Bill’s nostrils flare, and his gaze hardens defensively. 

“God, Bill. Why are you acting like it isn’t?” Holden demands, frustration simmering just beneath the surface of his need. 

“You really have to ask that?”

“I don’t need to be lied to.”

“Even if it’s for your own good?”

“My own good?” Holden echoes, his voice rising with choked disbelief. “I’m not a kid. I can make my own decisions.”

“Smart ones?”

Bill’s body tenses beneath the slow, grinding friction of Holden’s hips even as this disagreement stretches out between them. 

“Did I do something wrong last time?” Holden asks, leaning forward to brace his hands on Bill’s chest and get his pulsing cock at a steeper angle against Bill’s. “Just tell me what it is and I won’t do it again. I’ll do whatever you want-”

“You didn't do anything.” Bill says, sharply. “That’s the fucking problem, Holden.”

Holden pauses from his thrusting as confusion disperses in his chest. 

“What do you mean?”

Bill sighs, his eyelids shuttering for a moment before he reasserts his gaze deliberately to Holden’s. He jabs his chin toward the other bed.

“Just get off.” He says, quietly.

Holden stares at him in disbelief. He can feel Bill’s cock growing against his own, both of them blatantly longing.

“No.” He says. 

Bill’s brow creases with a deepening frown. “Holden, I mean it.”

“ _ No. _ ”

Bill’s nostrils flare and his cheeks flush with rising exasperation. Their gazes clash stubbornly for a few, tense moments before he pushes up from the pillows. In just a few, breathless seconds, Holden feels himself lose his balance beneath Bill’s powerful grasp on his hips. He lands on his back with a grunt, all the air seeming to vacate his lungs as Bill flips them over. 

There’s a brief struggle as Bill shoves between his legs and wrangles his wrists under control, pinning both of Holden’s arms above his head and against the pillow. 

“Stop it.” Bill orders as Holden bucks underneath him. “Lay still.”

Holden eases his struggling until he’s still against the pillows save for the exhilarated rise and fall of his chest and the heat coursing up from his belly to scorch his cheeks. He lifts a defiant gaze to Bill, trembling with his own audacity and heated arousal. 

“How did it feel?” Bill asks, leaning closer, his breath hot in Holden’s cheeks, “Last week, when you came into work and you could barely walk a straight line?”

Holden shudders, his body aching and burning with the sudden bruise of honesty battering him from the inside out. He breathes raggedly, clinging to Bill’s gaze, but not finding an answer within him.

“Huh?” Bill presses, giving Holden a shake by his wrist. “Did it feel good?”

Holden swallows, convulsively, and nods his head. 

Bill shakes his head, his mouth curling in disgust. He lets go of Holden’s wrists with a jolt, and leans back on his heels to rub a hand over his eyes. 

Holden lies limply against the pillow, his legs scattered and trembling on either side of Bill’s knees. Anticipation momentarily sinks below the clouds of hesitation as Bill’s question needles across his brain. He hadn’t thought about it. He’d just accepted the raw ache without question, taking his body as just another piece of collateral in his search for fulfillment; he hadn’t thought Bill would consider it either. 

“You like hurting me.” Holden whispers, “And now you’re feeling guilty about it all of the sudden?”

Bill pulls his hand away from his eyes to pin Holden with a defiant glare. “Not all of the sudden.”

“It seems pretty sudden to me.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

They stare at one another in stifled silence, and Holden sifts back through all of their encounters between now and that last time in his apartment until the jagged picture of Bill’s smothered emotions begins to stitch together. 

“Is this why you didn’t want to go back to Oregon with me?” He asks, his voice slightly trembling.

Bill glances away, a muscle rippling from his jawline and down into his throat as he swallows hard. 

Rejection stings in Holden’s chest, driving him up from the pillows with seething, desperate need. 

“I can’t believe you.” He says, searching for Bill’s gaze where it’s training distantly toward the wall. “You wussed out then, and you’re wussing out now. I’m not as fucking fragile as you think-”

His scathing retort cuts off abruptly when Bill’s gaze swings back to him, and grabs Holden’s by the jaw with both hands. Shoving them back against the pillows, he leans over Holden’s quaking body until his weight all but drives the air from Holden’s lungs. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid about this, Holden.” He says, his voice a raspy growl. “Have a little fucking self-preservation - _self-respect_ \- for once in your goddamn life.”

“I do!” Holden says, his chest wheezing beneath Bill’s weight, “I want you. That’s what I-”

“Christ, you’re unbelievable.” Bill interrupts, his hands clutching Holden’s jaw until it aches. “Either you’ve got balls of steel, or you just plain stupid.”

Holden bolts underneath of him, growling out a sound of contempt. “Fuck you, Bill.”

“That’s right. Fuck me.” Bill says, leaning back to brace a hand against the headboard. 

Holden pants heavily as Bill’s head lowers and his eyes press shut. His heart is pounding and a layer of sweat gathers beneath his t-shirt. Everything he thought he wanted has turned into a twisted pile of entangled emotions, injected with anger that chafes against lust; and he feels reckless, unhinged, more bent on his own destruction than before even as Bill threatens to take the last possibility away from him. 

Bill sighs wearily, his eyelids slipping open again to look down at Holden more gently this time. He extends his fingertips to touch Holden’s cheek, and Holden flinches before he realizes how soft the caress is. 

“Don’t you fucking get it yet?” Bill whispers, his voice quietly choked. “I don’t … I feel like I can’t control myself around you.”

Holden almost stops breathing as the confession sinks down into his breastbone like a weight of bricks. He blinks, searching for an answer to the muted, trembling fragility in Bill’s gray eyes, but he can’t speak with the fingertips carefully stroking his jawline. 

“Fuck.” Bill mutters, withdrawing his touch and curling his hand into a fist. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“When?” Holden whispers, breathlessly. 

“The last time …” 

“Why would I have stopped you?”

“Come on, Holden, stop it.” Bill says, his gaze sharpening. “Be fucking honest. There was a point when it was too much, and I just kept going - and  _ you _ … you fucking laid there and took it.”

“No, I wanted-”

“God, you scare the hell of me when you talk like that. I said 'be honest'.” 

Holden closes his mouth, and glances away. He can’t lie because every second that they’ve ever been together is burned into his mind, and he can remember that moment clearly. He had collapsed from the chair, his body breaking, his mind fracturing off into some pain-drunk haze; but he couldn’t remember if he loved or hated it when Bill pushed his face into the carpet. He couldn’t remember if the pain was what he wanted, or if it was more than he could bear - he hadn’t been thinking clearly enough to understand the difference. 

“Jesus.” Bill mutters, and Holden is certain he can see the truth shining in his eyes. 

He pulls away, leaving Holden’s body humming with the lingering impression of his weight, and Holden scrambles upright with tears springing to his eyes. 

“Bill, wait-”

“No.” Bill says, sharply, rising to his feet. “I can’t let you trust me when I can’t even trust myself. I fucking told you from the beginning -  _ communicate _ .”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Holden whispers, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. I’ll tell you next time. Just please don’t do this.”

“Do what? Stop you from this pursuing this insane need to be hurt before it goes too far?”

“Any more insane than you  _ wanting  _ to hurt me?”

Bill’s gaze cuts away at the retort, his mouth clenching into a hard line. 

Holden crawls to his knees on the edge of the mattress, and grabs Bill by the hips to pull him around until they’re facing each other. 

“Please, we’ll figure it out.” He whispers, looping his arms around Bill’s neck and gazing pleadingly up at him. “I’ll try harder, do better. I promise.”

Bill gazes down at him, conflicted need and fear fusing in his eyes. He reaches up to stroke his thumb over Holden’s cheek as a frown pinches his brow. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice dropping to a concerned whisper, “I hurt you.”

“I know. Don’t ask me to hate you for it.”

Before Bill can protest, Holden tightens his grasp around his neck and pulls him down into a kiss. Their mouths collide softly, slickly, and hungrily, a repressed need rising up out of the frustration to close the rift between them. 

At first, Bill’s mouth moves slowly, tenderly against Holden’s, applying only the light pressure of his lips, but as Holden presses eagerly against him, he opens his mouth to extend his tongue. 

Holden gasps softly, opening his mouth to the velvet, slick press of Bill’s tongue. A ripple of need surges through him, the first wave of a rising tide that he’s been struggling to hold back all week. Groaning, he pulls Bill down towards the bed, and is relieved when he encounters no resistance. 

Bill crawls between his thighs as they sink back down against the sheets, and plants his elbows on either side of Holden’s head. His fingers tangle in Holden’s hair as the kiss deepens, their mouth surging, open and wet, against one another with exposed, rampant need. Holding on just tightly enough to sting his scalp, he tugs Holden’s head back into submission so that he can curl his tongue along Holden’s palate and over the trembling swell of his lips. 

Holden pants as Bill’s tongue leaves wet, humming stripes across his lips, teeth, and tongue, drizzling saliva across his chin and the corners of his mouth. He lets his mouth go lax and compliant, taking the hungry plundering without resistance even as his hips begin to rock desperately up against Bill’s weight. 

Bill slips his hand between them and underneath Holden’s shirt. His fingers track the jagged swell of Holden’s ribs as he caresses tender skin, finding his way up to palm Holden’s pectoral. 

Holden groans, and digs his heels into the mattress to lurch up against the hard, pulsing weight of Bill’s cock grinding against his own swelling need. 

Their mouths break apart, both of them gasping and dizzy with need. 

“Please, I want you.” Holden whispers, lifting his arms submissively over his head. 

Bill swallows hard, only slightly catching his breath. He regards the open honesty bleeding from Holden’s eyes for only a few tense seconds before he leans back on his heels to grab at Holden’s trousers. 

Holden eagerly lifts his hips to allow the pajama pants to slide freely down his legs. As Bill tosses them over the side of the bed, he strips his t-shirt off over his head. His cock throbs against his underwear, already surrendered to the need while the brief argument fades into white noise. 

Bill reaches over to swipe one of the pillows from the headboard, and rolls Holden over onto his stomach with it propped under his hips. 

Holden complies, and grasps at handfuls of the sheets to brace himself when he’s on his belly, his backside vulnerable to the impending stroke of Bill’s hand. His heart stammers with anticipation that echoes through his whole body, shaking him to the core. 

Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, he buttons his teeth over a moan when he sees Bill straddling the back of his thighs. 

Bill strokes hand over his scarcely clad backside, and Holden can feel the tremble rippling through him. 

“Okay. Look at me.” He whispers.

Holden turns his chin against his shoulder to firmly meet Bill’s fierce stare. 

“The second it becomes too much-”

“I know. I’ll say stop.” 

“Good.” Bill says, “Now, put your face down on the bed and put your hands behind your head.”

Holden’s blood surges, that familiar rift of heady anticipation when the threat of punishment mounts in the near future. He presses his forehead into the bed, and untangles his fingers from the sheets to lace them against his nape. In this position, he’s effectively blind, and he can only anticipate when the first strike is coming by Bill’s touch on him, the sound of his breathing, the atmospheric pressure in the room seeming to heighten until he can’t breathe - but maybe that last part is just his imagination.

Either way, he’s never quite prepared for when it does come, and he stiffens and cries into the sheets when Bill doles out the first strike. The sound of impact is muted by his briefs, but the slight pain reaches past the thin layer of fabric to make his skin sting and his veins sing. 

He’s reeling in pleasure when the next one comes, landing over the same patch of skin to incite the dull hum of building pain. He urges his hips up against the pillow, offering himself willingly. 

He hears Bill draw in a staggered breath. His other hand palms Holden’s hip, locking him in place as he swings down again with his hand. The next few blows come in steady, cadenced succession, a few seconds of relief in between each one to let the pain sink in and to allow Holden to stop writhing from the impact. As the rhythm steadies, he goes between each ass cheek, matching the building burn, making Holden’s hips twitch back and forth between the repetitive strikes. 

Holden whimpers through each one, but the initial sting only serves to make his blood run hotter, his cock throb harder. He twists against the pillow, wanting more, his body longing for that moment when Bill removes the last barrier between their skin and truly sets him aflame. 

Bill’s palm shifts to the small of Holden’s back, pinning down the eager bucking of his hips while this hand that had just been striking him grazes the sensitive underside of his thigh. 

“Be still.” He murmurs, “Don’t tell me that hurts.”

Holden lifts his panting mouth from the sheets. “No, I just … I want more. I want-”

The explanation chokes off as Bill strikes him again, slowly and steadily. Every one lands squarely, firmly across his clothed backside, inciting wave after wave of stinging tingles. 

Holden chokes on a moan, and laces his hands tighter behind his head to stop himself from tearing at his underwear himself. After the last time, Bill is warming him up and easing him into it, but he wants to cry again that he isn’t so fragile. He can take it - just a little bit more - and he wants it more than anything. 

He manages to hold himself still until Bill’s hand strikes the lower swell of his ass cheek, managing to catch a sliver of bare skin just below the seam of his briefs. He lurches forward as the fresh streak of pain cuts through him, flaring alongside the building, dull ache hampered by fabric. 

“Oh God …” Holden pants, digging his forehead into the sheets. “Please.” 

Bill pauses, his fingertips sliding along the leg seam of the underwear to carefully push the fabric away from his cheek.

Holden bites back a groan as the bunched underwear go taut against his cleft, leaving his right ass cheek exposed to the gentle graze of Bill’s palm. The stroke lasts for several, agonizing moments before pulling back, and coming down with the sudden, breathtaking rawness of skin against skin. 

Moaning aloud, Holden digs his knees into the mattress to brace himself against the fresh wave of stinging pain washing over his skin. The scrambling motion only raises his backside higher to the next string of spankings, these ones landing deliberately over the same patch of exposed skin until a sharp pain explodes. Unable to to sit still any longer, he twists away with a choked cry. 

“Oh, please …”

Bill’s palm grips the battered skin, encouraging the dull ache as he pulls the other side of the underwear back. 

“No, please …” Holden groans, his nails sinking into his knuckles as he clutches at his nape. 

Curling his fist around the back of the briefs, Bill pulls the fabric taut enough to pin Holden in place while he doles out the next series of spankings. The cotton drags viciously tight against his cleft and across his aching cock, leaving him chafing in those areas with an ache that competes against the sting of Bill’s palm. 

Each way he tries to move only incites a new kind of friction and encourages Bill to pin him down harder. His knuckles are leaning into the lower knobs of Holden’s spine as the raining strikes across the left ass cheek peter off to light, tempting slaps. 

Holden sucks in a shaking breath and presses his drooling mouth shut. Carefully, he turns his chin to peek past his shoulder as the slaps cease, and he’s left stinging, bound up in the rumpled briefs, and aching for more. 

“Please …” He whispers, lifting his hips.

Bill’s gaze tracks its way up Holden’s burning ass cheeks, the shudder in his spine, to find his eyes hovering eagerly over his shoulder. His own expression is tenuous, his authority held together by bare seams. Holden can see the fire burning in his eyes, need barely held back by some lingering guilt from last time. 

“You want these off?” He asks, quietly, tugging on the elastic of the underwear. 

Holden nods, vehemently. “Yes, please.”

Bill’s nostrils flare with a slow, aroused exhale as he glances back down at the white cotton shoved between Holden’s ass cheeks. He slips a pair of fingertips down Holden’s spine, garnering a shiver from deep in Holden’s belly. When he reaches the waistband of the briefs, he slowly hooks them underneath and tugs. 

Holden lifts his hips from the pillow, humming a sigh of relief as the twisted fabric peels back and leaves his backside deliciously bare. 

As Bill tosses the underwear aside, he grabs Holden by the ankles, and pulls him towards the edge of the bed. Holden scrambles to follow the repositioning, his heart leaping as Bill settles down on the edge of the mattress, and guides Holden’s hips over his knees. Holden’s groin settles against Bill’s thigh, and he lifts his knee to pin it to the bed against Bill’s hip. His other foot digs into the carpet, leaving himself spread over Bill’s knee and entirely vulnerable to whatever touch he chooses to apply. 

Bill rubs his hand over Holden’s faintly burning ass cheeks, squeezing softly, and humming an appreciative noise. The caress barely grazes Holden’s asshole, triggering a deep wave of tingles and a clench of need through Holden’s belly.

With his cock twitching needily against Bill’s thigh, Holden arches his hips up in a quiet plea for the spankings to resume. 

Bill braces his other hand against Holden’s trembling spine, and retrieves his hand from his backside. 

Holden barely breathes while he clutches at the sheets and waits for it to start again. His body hums in the interim, aroused waves crashing through his tightly coiled groin. 

When Bill’s hand strikes again, against bare flesh, unimpeded, Holden can’t help the sharp cry that rushes from his throat. He’s still choking on the pathetic sound when the next one comes, just as forcefully, across his other ass cheek. 

“Ohhh.” Holden moans, his hips writhing uncontrollably over Bill’s knee. 

Bill doesn’t try to stop this muted struggling as he launches into a string of burning spankings that meet Holden’s skin with only a measure of his strength; still, it’s enough to make Holden’s simmering need boil over into rife desperation and to draw his cock unbearably hard. His erection pulses and his backside stings, and he can’t decide which one to focus on more as this stretch of blows goes on unbroken for several, breathtaking moments. When it does pause, he’s gasping and slightly lightheaded, his body submitting to the waves of pain and pleasure rolling over him. 

“Is that what you wanted?” Bill murmurs, his voice low while he strokes Holden’s burning skin. 

Holden nods, drawing in hitched breaths. “God, yes.”

Bill’s fingertips wander in along his cleft, and Holden strains over his lap, struggling not to twist away from the gentle pleasure. The touch caresses lower, finding his balls all heavy and swollen with unsated need. 

“Jesus …” Holden whimpers, clutching at the bed sheets. He digs his toes into the carpet and his knee into the mattress, arching up into the pressure of Bill’s palm kneading this tender, aching part of him. “Oh, Bill …”

Bill’s touch surges downward, finding his cock pressed rigidly against his thigh. The heel of his hand grinds along the underside, building the dull ache, encouraging the panicked throb. 

“Oh, please-” Holden chokes out, his body twisting away impulsively. 

Bill drags him back into position over his knee, but he leaves Holden cock to throb on its own as he fondles the rosy swell of his ass cheek. 

“Yes.” Holden rasps out, his body flushing hot with the prospect of another round of punishment. “Please.”

“More?” Bill asks, softly.

Holden nods eagerly. “Yes, please.”

Bill leans back, his hand settling firmly against Holden’s spine, and Holden goes utterly still, holding his breath as he eagerly awaits the fresh crack of pain. 

It comes down harder than before, crashing across Holden’s raw, primed flesh with stunning gravity. Holden’s mouth stretches open, but his throat is too choked with shocked pleasure to verbalize as the strikes resume with blistering force. He’s paralyzed through the first few, his body and mind reeling through equal turns of pleasure and pain, but as the spankings mount, he can’t stop the helpless twisting and turning of his hips. Bill follows his jagged struggling, each blow landing firmly and precisely against his arching, clenching backside. 

The pain mounts from a dull sting to an unbearable burn, and Holden feels himself tipping over the edge, the raw pain setting him on fire. Just as he haze starts to settle damply on his brain, he remembers what Bill said, what he’d promised. 

“Oh, stop.” He rasps out, his voice a meek whimper. “Stop, please.”

The strikes cut off abruptly, and Holden sinks against the sheets and Bill’s thigh, breathing tremulously. Turning his cheek against the duvet, he presses his eyes shut and tries to ease the thundering of his body now sparking with every flighty and needy impulse possible. He flinches softly when Bill touches him again, but the caress is gentle, lacking any kind of barbarity. It soothes the heated skin of his ass cheeks and journeys in feathery strokes down into the curve of his spine and up between his shoulder blades. As Bill’s fingers stroke at his nape, Holden shudders from deep inside, his body feverishly rejoicing in this blooming tenderness following the pain. 

Bill leans forward to kiss the back of Holden’s neck as his fingers creep along Holden’s jawline, gently tugging him upright. 

Forcing his melted, powerless limbs to comply, Holden pushes up from the sheets to sit upright on Bill’s thigh. His head spins with a dizzy wave that leaves him wavering into Bill’s chest, his forehead ducking down into the warm cradle of Bill’s neck. 

Bill pulls Holden right leg over so that he’s fully straddling his lap, and wraps both arms tightly around him. Silently, they cling onto one another, their chests shuddering, their hard, joined cocks speaking aching need. 

“Are you okay?” Bill whispers, his breath soft on Holden’s earlobe. 

Holden nods and slowly lifts his head. “Are you?”

Bill’s eyes meet Holden’s, shimmering with quiet yet intense need. He nods in response though his fingers are still trembling when he reaches up to stroke Holden’s cheek. 

Holden leans into the soft caress, his eyelids slipping shut as their mouths languidly collide. The kiss simmers, slight strokes of lips clinging onto one another, reassuring of desire. 

Bill’s fingers trail from Holden’s cheek and down his throat until they rapidly fall to find his cock writhing between them. His grasp curls softly around the shaft, applying a long, slow stroke that encourages the lapsing arousal back into the peak of need. 

Holden gasps against Bill’s mouth but hangs onto the kiss. Their lips go sloppy and haphazard against one another, distracted by the touches and desires blooming between their cradled hips. 

“Ohhh …” Holden moans, clinging to Bill’s shoulders as pleasure mounts. “Wait…”

“What?” Bill murmurs against his throat, his hand pausing. 

Holden pries Bill’s hand away from his cock, and drags it up, open-palmed to his mouth. Cradling his own palm next to it, he inclines his mouth to expel a stream of gathering saliva across both their hands. 

Bill’s teeth push at his lower lip, his brow furrowing in tortured pleasure as he watches Holden’s spit drip from his lips to their palms in several wet gushes. When there’s an abundant amount pooled in both their hands, Holden clasps his palm over Bill’s and rubs them together to smear the saliva around. 

“Okay.” Holden murmurs, withdrawing his palm from Bill’s. “Now touch me, and I’ll touch you.”

Their knuckles collide between them before finding their way past each other to grasp almost simultaneously at one another’s cocks. Scraped gasps emerge in tandem at the first slick caresses, and they lean into each other beneath the weight of mounting pleasure. 

Holden presses his forehead to Bill’s and closes his eyes as the saliva-slick grasp of Bill’s big, warm hand drags rhythmically up and down his cock. His own hand follows the same pace, until they’re moving together, hands pumping, hips rocking into the touch. 

Bill’s mouth catches at Holden’s lower lip, scattering a biting kiss and hot breath over his mouth. A moan pierces his throat, drawing Holden’s eyelids halfway open just to glimpse the image of him slowly coming apart in Holden’s hands. 

“Oh, fuck.” Bill whispers, his expression etched with pleasure. “Holden-”

Holden shifts into a faster pace that Bill’s hand automatically follows, sending a powerful rift of arousal through him. Everything draws tight in anticipation, bringing his knees squeezing against Bill’s hips and his body bowing forward into Bill’s shoulder. His nails dig into Bill’s nape as his mind claws toward the bright gleam of climax in the near distance, swelling above the horizon of his mind to smother everything in bliss. 

“Oh, yes … yes.” He pants, trying to physically push them both faster into pleasure. “I’m close, I’m …”

His voice chokes off as his muscles clamp taut, the last stretch of straining need before everything breaks. He’s breathless and waiting as Bill’s hand steadily strokes him, pushing him over the edge; and when it spills over into deep spasms of ecstasy, the touch never strays, drawing it purposefully out of him. 

Holden’s grip on Bill’s cock goes sloppy as he comes, spilling release on himself, on Bill, on their colliding wrists. It sweeps through him, hot and bright, and he clings onto every second, letting himself drown in the pleasure he’s been thinking of for days now. The same relief he always feels diffuses through his bloodstream - that feeling that he’s gotten what he wants one more time, and if this is the last time, he wants to live it fully. This time, that sense of urgency isn’t quite so intense as Bill is shuddering against him, threadbare, panting, just as desperate as Holden for climax. 

As Holden emerges from the grip of pleasure, he reasserts his grasp around Bill’s cock and slips back into the same, persistent rhythm. 

Bill’s arm cinches around his waist, drawing him closer with a choked moan as Holden’s hand, now dappled with cum, glides up and down his cock at a quick, squeezing pace. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s good.” He whispers, his voice breaking. 

Leaning his forehead against Holden’s shoulder, he goes still and shivering in the last few seconds of intense arousal. When he starts to come, his shoulders draw taut and his grip on Holden’s waist tightens so fiercely that Holden can barely move his hand in between them. He manages a few jagged strokes as release explodes between them, and hot, slick streaks of cum spatter his belly. 

Bill grunts quietly and trembles against him through the spasms, only going still and quiet when Holden feels his cock begin to wilt. 

Gently withdrawing his hand, Holden tilts his own head down to rest against Bill’s shoulder. His skin is warm and damp with perspiration and he’s slightly shivering, but he feels solid and unmovable, a fortress that Holden longs to hide himself in for the rest of their time here together. 

Neither of them move for several minutes. Bill is the first to lift his head. He pats Holden gently on the back, urging him to look up. 

Holden hesitantly leans back to meet Bill’s gaze, afraid he’ll see the same retreating defenses, the walls rising between them; but Bill’s eyes are just tired. Defeated?

“Can I stay?” Holden whispers, nodding slightly at the bed. 

Bill gazes at him quietly, conflict scarring pale blue eyes before the last of his resistance melts. He gives a small nod. 

“This feels good.” Holden says, shifting on Bill’s lap and squeezing his arm around his shoulders. “You … holding me.”

Bill swallows hard, his gaze flicking away for a moment. When he looks back up, he responds by pressing a kiss to Holden’s mouth. It’s quick and determined, more of an order to silence than a romantic gesture. 

He pulls back, nudging Holden’s bare hip. 

“Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Holden grudgingly climbs off Bill’s lap, and sits limply on the edge of the mattress as Bill climbs to his feet. He shuffles across the room to the bathroom, and leaves the door halfway open behind him, a silent invitation. 

Holden stares at the yellow strand of light stretching from the bathroom and across the carpet, feeling a bubbling sense of satisfaction rising up in his chest. He digs his toes into the carpet to assure himself that this moment is real. He’d gotten on the plane in Dulles thinking he was on the verge of losing everything, but Bill had finally opened his mouth and spoken, true honesty for the first time since all of this started. Maybe he’d expected this to be the ending, too; maybe he’s surprised that Holden doesn’t hate him. 

Holden bolts up off the bed to scamper into the bathroom where Bill is already in the shower cleaning up. Slipping the curtain open, he climbs inside and leans against the tile while Bill stands under the misty spray of water. 

Holden smiles softly, and he thinks he sees the start of Bill’s own relief tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

~

Later, after the shower, they lay in bed together while the  _ Star Trek  _ marathon continues. Bill is propped up against the headboard smoking a cigarette while Holden curls up at his side, his cheek pressed to Bill’s shoulder. 

Holden’s gaze wanders distractedly from the television and the gaudy stretch of starry blackness to peek up at Bill’s reserved expression. The sunlight has faded, leaving the lamp as the only source of illumination in the room, a wash of yellow that backlights the smoke curling from Bill’s lips and the feathery graze of his eyelashes dipping sleepily at his cheeks. 

He reaches out to touch the center of Bill's forehead at his hairline with gentle fingertips. Bill tenses but doesn't pull away as the index and middle fingertips trace a line down his forehead, follow the shape of his nose, the pucker of his lips, and the jut of his chin.

"What are you doing?" He murmurs. 

"Just looking. Remembering this moment." 

"Why?" 

Holden props himself up on his elbow with a slow inhale. His fingers linger against Bill's chin as he meets the critical stare with a gentle one.

"Do I really scare you?" 

Bill's gaze cuts away again before he reaches over to run his knuckles over Holden’s ribs, holding the cigarette scarce inches away from his naked skin so that Holden can feel the heat of it. 

"Yeah … you scare the hell out of me." 

Holden shifts closer, and carefully drapes his leg over Bill's hip to pull their bodies together. Bill rolls against him without resisting. He puts the cigarette in his mouth so that he can slide his palm down the curve of Holden's spine to gently grasp his backside. The flesh is still raw, the touch lightly stinging.

"You really like this, huh?" 

Holden softly bites his lower lip and nods.

"Why didn’t you ever ask your girlfriend to spank you if you enjoy it that much?" 

"I don't know. That would just be…." 

"Weirder than this?" 

"Yeah. At any rate, she isn’t my girlfriend anymore." 

Bill's hand strokes absently over the swell of his ass, his eyelids lowered. The averted gaze can't hide the ripple of his jaw clenching or the slight flare of his nostrils.

"What?" Holden murmurs.

"Did you verbally break things off? Is that relationship unsalvageable?" Bill asks, retrieving his hand to pull the cigarette from his mouth. 

"Not verbally, no." 

"Then you should make up with her." Bill says, somberly, his eyes lifting to pin Holden with their murky, gray density. "Before it's too late." 

"Seriously?" 

"I'm still married. Remember what I told you." 

"I know. You're not leaving her." 

"Yeah. So make up with your girlfriend." 

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You said yourself you’re not sure if she actually cheated. You’ve done a lot worse than her if that’s the case.”

Holden glances away, his cheeks suddenly burning. He’s gotten pretty good at shoving down his guilt, but it’s hard to face it with impunity when the condemnation is coming from Bill’s mouth. 

“Isn’t that just another reason for me to  _ not  _ make up with her?”

Bill sighs, and pulls out of Holden’s embrace. He stretches his arm out to deposit his cigarette in the ash tray, and props himself up on his elbow. 

“That’s one way to look at it.” He says, “Another way is that once this is all said and done, I don’t want you to be left with nothing.”

Holden glances up to see Bill’s eyes holding onto him, sober and relentless. This kind of honesty is all he’d ever wanted, but now that it’s striking him in the face, in his newly tender satisfaction, he doesn’t want to talk about it - about them ending. 

“I won’t be.” He says, finally. “I’ve experienced more in the last year than I have in my entire life; and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“You say that now. How about when Nancy and I work things out, and I decide to break it off with you? What then?”

“I’ll respect your decision.”

“Will you?” Bill asks, chuckling softly. He reaches over to smooth his thumb across Holden’s temple, tamping down damp curls. “I’m sure you’ll try.”

Holden frowns, avoiding Bill’s touch for the first time. 

“Can we not talk about this?”

Bill sighs. “Sure.”

“Let’s just take it for what it is, like you said.” 

Bill nods, his mouth pursing. He can’t argue with his own logic. 

Settling back down against the pillows, he grabs the TV remote. “I’m gonna turn this off. I’m beat.”

“That’s fine.”

Bill clicks off the television, plunging the room into silence. In a few moments, he turns off the lamp as well, and there’s only the darkness and the warm press of their bodies against one another. 

For a long time, Holden listens to Bill’s breathing, counting the rise and fall, noticing how the cadence slows and drops off into slumber. And he’s thinking - still thinking, always thinking even if he tells himself to stop. 

Sinking down against the pillows, he tugs the sheets over his head, and tries to focus instead on the feeling of Bill sleeping beside him. It feels good, and he should hang onto this feeling. He likes the sound of Bill’s breathing, steady like the tide - it’s a reassuring rhythm that he could get used to between the shadows and the hounding of his own persistent thoughts. 

**Author's Note:**

> As far as I know, this is the last installment of the prequel section of this series, and though I'm sorry to be saying goodbye to this 'verse for a second time, I'm very happy with how the completed saga turned out. Thanks to everyone who commented, supported this series, and loved it as much as I do! 💕
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


End file.
